


Insert Witty Title

by Beejrill



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Superhero Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:07:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1280512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beejrill/pseuds/Beejrill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles looks to be his normal uncoordinated self - but he's not. Derek's definitely not the fun loving furball we've come to love on the TV - but he's still not quite normal. This alternate universe explores what would happen if Stiles' ultimate wish were to come true as he finally receives his super powers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insert Witty Title

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle. I've never actually sat down with the intent to write a story. Let me know what you guys think! Feedback is always welcomed. Unless it's negative. Keep that shit to yo'self. JOKING! :D

Stiles woke, bleary eyed and dry mouthed somewhere... strange. Strange in that he knew precisely where he was, but not why. He breathed in the harsh chemical smell of disinfectant and antibacterial hand gel, cringing away from what he’d long since associated with old people, him mum and... and death. He’d spent so many hours in rooms like this over the years he’d vouched that he’d never come back willingly. Of course, as his medical records and dad would attest, growing up he wasn’t always the best at gauging distances... or heights, temperatures and especially the position of his own limbs. At fourteen, he'd frequented this building so often, he wouldn't have been surprised if there was a cabinet somewhere dedicated to his numerous files.

“Great. Fan-bloody-tastic. What the hell did I do this time?” he groaned as he took in his surroundings, still a little groggy from whatever meds he'd been given.  
  
Slowly looking over to his right, past the other empty bed (score!) towards the doors, he took in the clean but sparsely furnished room. It was all rather sedate really (hah, sedate. Because he had to have been sedated.) The room was basically the same as all the others he'd been relegated to over the years - white walls, white floors, non-stick this, don't touch that, this could kill you if yadda yadda yadda. His eyes were drawn to the vibrant paintings scattered around the room showing the preserve surrounding Beacon Hills from Summer through to Spring.

Reaching down to the foot of his bed in the hopes of finding a chart, or anything to give him an idea of what the hell was going on, he stilled as he was made achingly aware of the numerous scratches and scrapes covering his gangly body. Gently untangling himself from the confines of the starched linen, Stiles started to take inventory of his injuries. Head; possible concussion - check. Left arm; wrapped up so probably not broken - check. Aching back and bruised chest - check. Fluorescent pink cast swallowing half his left leg - check. He had to stop for a moment and breathe in deeply, counting back from 15 before he was sure he wasn't going to shout. Scott was officially a dead man. Honing in on his best friend’s jagged hand-written scrawl just above where his ankle would be inside the monstrosity, the words “I told you so” stood out boldly in black against the offending cast. So dead. "Bastard."

Glancing back towards the door again, he half expected to hear Scott's smug laugh just outside as he regaled his mum's colleagues with the time he put bleach in Stiles shampoo and made his hair fall out (turned out he liked it short), or that one time this morning he landed Stiles with a pink cast. He could admit that they were both solid pranks, well, except for the burning pain and subsequent distrust of hygiene products following the bleach episode... actually, he didn't like Scott's pranks at all. Six weeks couldn't come soon enough, and neither could his revenge. He could wait. Maybe.

Alone, in his room, Stiles began to plan his revenge. He was a planner. Always had to have every detail in place to get the full picture. He and another girl Lydia were both joint first in their ninth grade history class because he liked to plan. Not that he always used this skill in a practical setting... Scott was always pulling him back from the brink of carrying out whatever crazy plan he'd made and most of the time it had kept him out of hospital.

It was then that his situation actually sank in and Stiles started to panic. He couldn't remember seeing anyone since this morning. It might have been Scott, but he couldn't be sure. He couldn't remember getting injured. Maybe he'd been given some pain killers that affected his memory, but he couldn't even remember seeing a nurse. Maybe Melissa would know and be able to tell him what was going on and where everyone was... he was just so confused. Unfocussed. His thoughts so, so... scattered. Even his headache was getting a headache.

Searching for the nurse call button, Stiles found a tv remote for a non-existent monitor, a badly completed sudoku book in his dresser and a half filled jug of water. Nothing at hand to get anyone's attention but his own scratchy, sleep-tired voice. Indignant, but proud that he hadn't yet had a panic attack, he let out a frustrated grunt and lay back down against the surprisingly soft pillows and stared at the ceiling. With so many questions beckoning for his attention, he distracted himself by imagining patterns in a few water stains marring the otherwise crisp white surface and before he knew it, the edges of his vision slowly faded to black.

*                     *                     *                    *                    *                    *                    *                    *

Stiles didn't even remember passing out, but he was being woken gently by a hand on his right shoulder and the comforting smell of leather and coffee... his dad. Blinking away the sleep from his eyes, he saw two blurred figures on either side of his bed. It's about time he thought and moved to settle back into the padded mattress. Nobody was there when he woke up, so he could pretend neither of them were there now.

"M' sleep" he yawned into his drool soaked pillow and ignored the fuzzy figures beside him. "Doh way..."

When he refused to be roused, the shape with the wonky jaw who he definitely wasn't talking to yet smiled mischievously and dumped the remains of the water jug on the bedside table into his lap.

Scott. What the hell did he ever do to deserve him?

Nearly jumping out of the bed to escape the chill settling in through his boxers he swore rather loudly and sent his limbs flailing dangerously. Unfortunately, he didn't quite hit Scott and just succeeded in hurting his jarred arm while looking like a he was being harassed by a bee or something.

Unfazed in the slightest, his dad levelled his calculating gaze at Scott and smirked. Huddled against the far wall doubled over with laughter and gasping for breath, Scott was totally oblivious to what he'd just opened himself up to. Grabbing a piece of the slowly melting ice, his dad lobbed it in Scott's direction. It sailed through the air and landed quietly in the hood of the boy's jumper. Stiles had to admit that it was a pretty good shot. Most of the time, he was impressed with himself if he found his mouth when he was eating.

Smiling up at his dad, Stiles couldn't help but notice the signs of exhaustion underlying his dad's answering grin. Although he may look the picture of relief to anyone watching on, Stiles thought he couldn't quite hide the worry from the corners of his eyes. He looked much older than his 40 years and although his excuse was just exhaustion from his demanding job, Stiles knew that he'd been the cause of more than a few of those deep-set lines around his eyes and forehead as well as his prematurely greying hair.

Stiles knew he was all his dad had left. Apart from Scott and Melissa, everyone else in his life was just... gone. He'd never met his grandparents, but his dad told him they were killed when he was just a boy. He'd always looked up to his dad, but when Stiles discovered the sheriff had the same origin story as Batman, there was no denying he was the real deal. He even made a special costumed appearance at Stiles' 9th birthday party, just before his mother got sick. He would always cherish the picture he got with his mum and batman, each wrapped around an arm, laughing as though there wasn't a care in the world...

A light rap on the door distracted him from his musings. He and his dad both turned towards the noise while Scott remained in the corner trying (and failing) to control himself. Melissa and another woman made their way into the room, gently closing the door behind them and once again blocking out the majority of the anarchy outside. They both took measured strides towards his bed, Melissa looking more anxiously at Stiles than the blonde woman she was trailing behind.

"Stiles?" He looked up at the unfamiliar tone and let out the breath he didn't even realise he'd been holding. The woman standing at the foot of his bed was probably only a few years older than his dad. She wore professional clothing under an unbuttoned white medical coat and Royal purple heels which, well, Stiles didn't think would quite meet workplace health and safety standard even if they were killer. Matching glasses woven with intricate patterns rested on her thin nose and magnified her warm brown eyes. She smiled and waited for his acknowledgement, looking at him with a quizzical look, like she wasn't quite sure she should be worried or not.

"Stiles, my name's Dr. Soren do you remember me at all from yesterday? You were a little sedated to help with the pain and not really up to questions, do you think you'd be able to help us now?" Stiles shook his head no and kept his eyes focussed on her, still confused as to why he still couldn't piece everything together. She must have thought he was playing dumb because she sighed quietly and glanced at her watch.

Well, this was awkward. Cocking his head slightly to the side and raising one eyebrow (something he'd learned from him mum) in what he called his 'what the hell are you talking about, fool' look he continued to stare her down.

"Umm, not to be rude but I've never even met you, and for me, living in a small town where I'm pretty much a fixture in this hospital that's, like... who are you again?" Stiles just couldn't comprehend the implications of what she'd just said. "What do you mean, yesterday?" He threw a look at his dad, silently questioning what she meant, but all he received back was a concerned frown. Scott had stopped laughing and was wearing the same mask, but in the lines of his mouth and around his eyes Stiles could see there was real pain there. Knowing Scott, this usually meant he was beating himself up about something...

His pulse quickened and a pressure built inside his chest. "Stiles, honey I need you to calm down for me, do you think you can do that?" Melissa asked as she seated herself down next to him on the bed and hugged him one armed, rubbing smooth circles on the arm Scott hurt earlier.

Hugging her back tightly, but turning towards this new doctor, having calmed down enough to pump out a soft apology. In his raspy hospital voice stiles responded with "I don't even remember seeing a doctor." His dad and Scott looked at each other across the bed, a mix of confusion and concern mirrored on their faces.

The woman's features had softened a little from her clinically wary expression to something a little more personable... human maybe? "That's quite alright. It's only natural that you're confused. Stiles, can you tell me what day you think it is?" The condescending tone wasn't warming her up to him. Did she honestly think he was stupid? He may have only been in middle school, but he could follow a conversation.

He bit anyway to find keep the ball rolling "Well, obviously it's now Wednesday the 26th but the last thing I remember before I woke up in here, alone might I add" glaring daggers at his dad and so-called best friend "was I think Scott came over to play some COD before the walking dead in the afternoon, but even that's a little fuzzy..."

Looking thoughtful, she turned to Scott (who, Stiles was pretty sure had already been questioned if the exasperated look he gave her was anything to go by) and asked if he'd noticed anything out of the ordinary in Stiles' behaviour when he arrived at the house. He kind of smirked and replied that she obviously didn't know Stiles very well - if he was acting normal, that's when you started worrying. Which because it was obviously pick on the cripple day elicited a chuckle from the Sheriff.

"Have you been having any trouble sleeping lately, Stiles?" Guess I was relevant again. "Uhh yeah, yeah. I suppose I've had a lot on my mind lately, what with school starting back in a few weeks and mum's anniversary coming up..." he trailed off, suddenly unable to go on. Dr. Soren cleared her throat and asked dad if I'd been taking anything to sleep. His dad didn't know he'd been double dosing his Ritalin. He was just so distractible all the time, and he didn't want to be a burden on his dad any more than he already was, he figured he'd try it for a little while and if it didn't work, he'd stop.

"It says in your chart that you're on the single dose of Ritalin, is that right? He had to say something. Stiles brought his hand up to put pressure against his already throbbing temples. He couldn't just lie. He could avoid his dad's eye contact to pretend the look of disappointment wasn't there though. "Stiles, if you need to see a counsellor or someone while you're in here with us, I can arrange it for you. Taking your meds incorrectly can be very dangerous and from what Scott told me yesterday, you're very lucky the only major injury you suffered was a broken leg. From what we can gather, you had an adverse reaction to the higher than normal dose you were taking of your Ritalin. It sounds like you were hallucinating when you climbed onto your roof."

At this point, Scott interjected. "I told you it was a bad idea man! That trampoline was way too close to the ground and I think the last time we actually used it was at your ninth birthday party before I got that big one at my house. The crunch when you hit the ground was cool though, so you've got that going for you." Stiles wryly thought to himself that that did actually sound like something he would do, especially if he wasn't thinking properly. Usually, if Scott thought something was a bad idea, it was probably a really horrible idea that nobody who values their life should ever attempt. Ever.

"But what about his memory loss? Will he remember anything from yesterday?" his dad questioned. Brushing her hair out of her face and tucking a stray tendril behind her ear she told the room it could be attributed to a few things - "most likely, his concussion, but since there's no swelling on the brain, it should hopefully resolve itself within the next few days and if not, there's nothing to be concerned about in the long run. We're going to keep an eye on you again tonight, Stiles but discharge you home tomorrow. We'll see you in a few weeks in the orthopaedic cast clinic to check on how your leg is healing." Dr. Soren turned and made her way across the room, but just before she crossed the threshold she gave the three boys left by the bed a parting smile "nice colour choice, by the way" and closed the door behind her. By the end of the consult, Stiles wasn't sure if he liked her or not.

Melissa got up from the bed and proceeded to take his vitals, all rather routine by now. "Come on Stiles, I didn't know you were trying to compete with Scott for who can do the dumbest thing this Summer. He may have super glued his phone to his hand, but we managed to get that off within a few hours. This cast has another six weeks at least until it comes off." Stiles admitted she was right which garnered suspicious looks from everyone and a few jokes that he should probably stay the rest of the week to make sure he doesn't have brain damage. Har. Har.

Turning to Scott, who actually looked a little tired now that he was standing still. He had the beginnings of bags under his eyes so big you could carry your groceries home. "So, what actually happened after I stepped off the roof?" He really wanted to know, but at the same time was a little worried that he might not like the answer.

"Dude, you told me you were going to try to swan dive, but I don't know if you actually knew what that was. I didn't, but you kind of just flopped off actually. I was screaming at you to get down the whole time. When you hit, you kind of just crumpled and went really pale before vomiting up all over my shoes." Good, I thought to myself. Some pre-emptive payback for the cast.

The Sheriff leaned up on the bed, cutting Scott off and making sure Stiles was looking at him. "Then, when the ambulance arrived with you high off your face on the green whistle, we were told you were bleeding from your head and might have a concussion. Scott and I stayed with you all night to make sure you didn't pass out and not wake back up again. Today was a killer at work, so you owe us big time buddy." The guilt angle. Ruthless.

At that, Stiles had to say something. "Hey, wait! What about this... this... monstrosity on my leg!? I don't owe you anything, you _planned_ this, didn't you? I can't touch you, but Scott's still fair game." Scott's goofy grin rapidly faded. He knew I meant business this time.

Melissa's voice cut the silence. "Alright ladies, break it up. You're sounding hysterical and paranoid. It's bed time. You need to get home and clean your room, and you already lose enough sleep over this one Andrew. The town needs you awake so I'll keep an eye on Stiles tonight."

If anyone came in, he didn't realise, or didn't remember in the morning. All he remembered was the haunting echo of screams and the lashing of the flames as fire engulfed his dreams.


End file.
